


me, you, and the ghost of jean beliveau

by somehowunbroken



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Getting Together, Ghosts, M/M, Magical Realism, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21754669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: The first thing that Cale learns about Sam Girard is that he's got quick hands and quicker feet, and that he regularly uses both to make opponents look kind of ridiculous on the ice.The second thing he learns is that Sam ismagic.
Relationships: Samuel Girard/Cale Makar
Comments: 27
Kudos: 241





	me, you, and the ghost of jean beliveau

**Author's Note:**

> this is... not the witchboy sammy fic that i meant to write. i assume that will happen at some point, but in the meantime, enjoy 20k of jean beliveau's magic being a little, er, stubborn.
> 
> thanks to everyone who read this as i was writing it and assured me that it made much more sense than i feared!

The first thing that Cale learns about Sam Girard is that he's got quick hands and quicker feet, and that he regularly uses both to make opponents look kind of ridiculous on the ice.

The second thing he learns is that Sam is _magic._

-0-

"Mon chuuuuuum," EJ crows, ruffling Sam's hair after practice. Cale knows he's way too new to all of this to have opinions on much yet, but if a teammate had made him feel like a pylon out there the way Sam had to EJ, Cale's pretty sure he wouldn't be so happy to see him afterwards.

He feels _very_ entitled to his opinion on how bad EJ's French accent is, though.

"Mon chum," Sam singsongs back, and Cale doesn't have to see his face to know he's smiling. "Your skates are still attached, yes? Why were you standing so still?"

"Because you're an asshole," EJ replies, still cheery. "A speedy, bendy asshole. You're the only one around here with rubber ankles, Sammy."

Sam's laugh is like—Cale doesn't know how to describe it, not really. It's light, but there's something under it that shivers beneath his skin, makes something in Cale sit up and take notice. It's there and gone again in a second, and Cale glances around; nobody else is reacting, so he mentally shrugs and starts to get out of his practice gear.

"Hey, Sam," Cale hears as he's pulling his jersey off and tossing it into the laundry bin. "It's not a big deal, but—"

"Yes, come here," Sam says. Cale turns his head to see Sam waving Barbs over, then looking at the wrist he holds out. "What did you do?"

Barbs laughs. "Talk to your chum about shoving teammates into the boards during a practice."

"Erik," Sam chides without looking away from Barbs' wrist. Cale's not sure why he's looking, what he's waiting for, but Sam nods and holds a finger up, delicately tracing a line from Barbs' elbow to his hand. It leaves a streak of shining purple light in its wake for a few seconds before it fades into nothing, and Barbs flexes his wrist when Sam lifts his finger.

"Thanks," he says, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam laughs. "Shove him back," he suggests, and that's that.

-0-

"So," Cale says as he sits down on the bus after the first game against the Sharks. He's trying to keep his voice quiet; he's never seen magic used so openly before, and it's not like it's forbidden or anything, but it's also not something he's used to just… seeing.

Kerfy turns and raises an eyebrow at him. "You know that's Willy's seat, right?"

Cale shrugs a shoulder. "I told him I wanted to talk to you and he said he'd switch with me, but if it bothers you—"

Kerfy shakes his head. "It's fine," he says, mouth twitching into a smile. "Willy won't ever mind, and I'm not feeling really superstitious tonight. What's up?"

Cale glances around. "Uh," he says. "I don't know how to bring it up without being weird."

This time both of Kerfy's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, first things first: there's no way it's not gonna be weird now, not with an intro like that."

"Magic," Cale blurts out, then shuts his mouth tightly.

Kerfy nods slowly. "Right, you came from UMass," he says. "It's not a thing in college hockey, which is why you're asking me."

Cale shrugs a shoulder. "I mean, I figured you'd be able to explain it, yeah."

"Not really," Kerfy says, a quick grin flashing across his face. It disappears again when he glances across the bus, and Cale would bet he's looking at Sam. "I mean, you've seen magic before, right?"

"Yeah," Cale says, "but nothing like…"

Kerfy nods. "Yeah," he says. "Sammy… what he can do, it's crazy. He doesn't use it to affect games, and if anyone asks him about it, he gets, uh."

"Upset?" Cale ventures.

Kerfy shakes his head. "I'd say _cold,_ but that's an understatement. It's like calling the ocean wet."

Cale makes a face. "Got it."

"He's a good guy," Kerfy says, shaking his head again before turning back to look at Cale. "But he's got more magic in the ends of his hair than I think I've ever seen in the rest of my life combined, and I love that he's on the team, but I don't understand why he's not doing something magical."

"You've seen his spin-o-rama," Cale says, grinning. "That's magical enough."

Kerfy snorts. "You know what I mean."

"I'm sure you had the chance to do something that wasn't playing," Cale says. "But here you are."

"Here I am," Kerfy agrees. "And here's Sam, and all of his magic."

"So if I pull a muscle," Cale starts.

"He can fix it," Kerfy says. "He might not do it, and I don't know what makes him choose what to heal and what not to. You can always ask, though. He's got the ability."

Cale nods slowly. "Okay," he says. "Thanks."

-0-

Cale watches from the bench as Sam picks up the puck behind the net, skates forward, and then effortlessly changes direction, making the guy tailing him trip and skid into the boards. It's not magic, but it sure looks like it from where Cale's sitting—the ordinary, human kind of magic.

After the game, he taps Sam on the head. "Nice moves," he says.

Sam laughs, and Cale gets that _feeling_ again. It's like there's something else there with them, something bigger than both of them combined, but it's just a flash of sensation before it's gone again and Sam's just Sam. "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself, Makars."

"I can't move like you do," Cale says, words tumbling out of his mouth before his brain-to-mouth filter has the chance to intercept them.

Thankfully, Sam just shrugs. "And I can't shoot like you do," he says. "We all have different abilities."

Someone coughs, and they both turn. "Speaking of abilities," Willy says, smiling slightly. "I'm checking with you before I check with the trainer, because last time I went to the trainer first, and you made faces at me for two weeks. Something's up with my shoulder."

"You always come to me first," Sam says, beckoning Willy closer. "What did you do, Willy?"

"Hockey, if I had to guess," Willy says, voice light.

Cale laughs. "You're probably right."

"WIlly usually is," Sam says, except there's something—off, Cale thinks, something about the way his voice sounds. Willy doesn't seem to notice, but there's a strange note to Sam's voice, something that sounds almost like an echo blurring beneath it as Sam reaches out to lay a gentle finger against Willy's shoulder. He frowns after a moment, shaking his head, and there's no streak of purple light like there had been with Barbs.

"Well, I'll go see the trainers, then," Willy says when Sam drops his hand.

"I am sorry, Willy," Sam says, and he sounds it, too. "Ask me if it happens again, though."

Willy smiles and nods, and Cale watches as he walks away. "Is it, uh," he asks, turning to look at Sam. "Is it bad? Is that why you can't just…"

Sam shakes his head, turning to give Cale half a smile. "It's difficult to explain. Sometimes I can heal things, but sometimes I cannot. Sometimes the magic does what I ask it, and other times it does what it wants."

"That's, uh," Cale says, frowning. "I didn't think magic worked that way."

"It doesn't," Sam says, simple and direct, and then he turns and walks towards the locker room without another word.

-0-

"I don't understand," Cale says. He's on Kerfy's bed in the hotel, and Kerfy's sitting on JT's bed while JT showers.

Kerfy sighs. "I don't really know what to tell you."

"Something to make it make sense?" Cale tries.

"Man, if I knew…" Kerfy says, shaking his head. "Look, Sammy's magic. That's the best I've got for you."

"I've known people who had magic before," Cale starts.

"No," Kerfy cuts in. "Sammy doesn't _have_ magic, dude. _Sammy's magic._ "

Cale's quiet as he tries to digest what that's supposed to mean, but he gives up and shakes his head after a moment. "So he's magic," he says. "Shouldn't that make him better at controlling it? I've seen my six-year-old cousin fix a broken crayon by glaring at it, and she's barely got any magic at all."

"I really don't have a better answer for you," Kerfy says, spreading his hands. "You could try asking him."

"No," Cale says quickly.

Kerfy laughs. "He won't hurt you. I promise he only threatens to bite EJ because EJ can't tell if he's gonna go through with it or not."

Cale makes a face. "I don't want him to think I think he's weird."

"Use your words, college boy," Kerfy says, raising his eyebrows. "You're allowed to be curious."

"You know, you're not as helpful as I thought you'd be," Cale says, and Kerfy tips his head back and laughs.

-0-

Sam opens the door when Cale knocks, and there's—something, Cale thinks, something there and then not, but then Sam smiles and steps back, and Cale takes the silent invitation and walks in.

"You have your own room?" Cale asks, looking around.

Sam laughs and shoves a hand through his hair. "I glow in my sleep," he says, and it takes a lot of willpower for Cale to not rock back on his feet. "I keep people up, so nobody will room with me. Josty tried, but now I just have my own room, and he room with whoever get called up from the AHL."

"Oh," Cale says, which he thinks is probably as coherent a reaction as he can be expected to give after the whole _glowing_ revelation. "That's… huh."

Sam smiles and takes another step backwards, and Cale doesn't know what makes him do it, but he reaches out and catches Sam's wrist. "You, uh," he says. "I'm not, like, afraid or whatever."

"Are you sure?" Sam asks. From anyone else, in any other situation, it would be a dare, a goad. Sam just tilts his head to the side, though, and he doesn't try to pull his wrist back.

"I'm sure," Cale says. His fingers feel clammy around Sam's wrist, but he kind of feels like letting go would undermine his point right now. "I don't get it, but I'm not scared of you. You're my teammate."

Sam nods and glances down, and when he looks up, he's got half a smile on his face. "Okay. You're not scared, but you have questions."

Cale nods and finally lets go of Sam's wrist. "I asked Kerfy first," he admits, sitting on the bed that's still made up.

Sam laughs. "Kerfy is very smart, but he doesn't know about magic."

"Yeah, I found that out," Cale says, and Sam laughs again. "He told me to talk to you."

"He would," Sam says, voice light. "He has lots of, what is it, wants people talking to each other?"

"Lines of communication?" Cale guesses, pulling something from his psych class freshman year.

Sam shrugs. "Maybe," he says. "He says talking is important to a relationship, and he dates both his roommates, so maybe he knows."

Cale chokes on air. "He _what_ now?"

"You didn't know," Sam says, and then he starts laughing. "Oh, your _face_."

"Kerfy's dating JT and Josty?" Cale asks, just to make sure. Sam's English is just fine, but it's probably better to double-check on this particular issue. "At the same time?"

"They all are dating each other," Sam says, making a circular gesture with his hand. "A triad."

"Okay, that's," Cale says, blinking a few times. "That actually explains a lot. Huh."

Sam nods. "So Kerfy said you should talk to me," he says. "What do you want to ask?"

Cale takes a deep breath, in through his mouth, out through his nose. It's a centreing technique he's been using since he was about seven, and it's not magic, but sometimes it feels like it is. "He said that you don't just have magic, that you _are_ magic," he says slowly. "I guess I want to know what he meant by that."

"That I am magic," Sam says, frowning slightly. "That's not… hm. It isn't right, but it's not wrong."

Cale does his best to grin. "That's not really clearing anything up for me, Sammy."

Sam laughs before Cale can correct himself, step back and apologise for using a nickname he's not sure he's earned yet. Sam doesn't seem upset by it, though, so Cale figures he's probably in the clear. "What do you know about magic?"

"Not much," Cale readily admits. "I don't have any, but apparently I'm sensitive to it. I can tell when people are using it, or if there's something weird nearby."

Sam nods slowly. "So when you look at me…"

"It's like," Cale says, frowning. "There's something there, but only sometimes."

"You can see something," Sam says. He fidgets with the necklace that Cale has never seen him without. "That's more than you should be able to tell."

Cale feels his eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

Sam sighs and lets the necklace drop back to his chest. "You don't know magic," he says. "So I don't know how to explain, really."

"If you don't want to talk about it," Cale starts, frowning. They're supposed to be the future of the Avs' blue line, him and Sam, but Cale's pretty sure he doesn't need every detail to make it work. They've got time to figure it out, too.

"No," Sam says, shaking his head. "It's only, I don't know what to say. Magic is one thing, but magic in Quebec…"

"Oh," Cale says, leaning forward. "Wait, I think I know about this. It's different, right? The magic comes from a different place, works in a different way."

Sam nods. "Magic is a gift," he says. "Not like they say here, you have a gift if you have magic. In Quebec, you only have magic if someone gives you theirs. We don't say you have magic, we say you were touched. Blessed."

"Oh, wow," Cale says. "So someone gave you their magic? That's… wow."

Sam laughs, but it sounds strained, tired. "It works a certain way," he says. "There is a ceremony, there are rituals, it takes time. It works so you get a little bit when someone decides to gift it to you, and then you get more and more as they get older, and then when they die, you get the rest. That way you can learn it as you get it, see?"

"That makes sense," Cale says, nodding. "Was it… it was different for you, wasn't it?"

Sam shakes his head. "My granpère," he says. "Grandfather. When I was ten, we start the rituals, we do the ceremony. I always knew I would get his magic, and it worked fine. I get a little bit then, and a little more, and I still get a little bit more and more now, too."

"Okay," Cale says slowly.

Sam's smile is brief. "We went to Montreal to celebrate," he says. "I always knew I want to play hockey, so when the ceremony was over, my family took a trip to see les Canadiens. Boston was in town. It was a big game."

"Something happened at the game," Cale guesses.

"Yes," Sam says. He's looking over Cale's shoulder now, and it's like—whatever that _thing_ is, it's here now. "I brushed up against someone. An older man. We were walking back to our seats before the third period, and it was crowded, and…"

"Sam," Cale says when Sam doesn't continue. "What happened?"

Sam takes a deep breath and meets Cale's eyes. "Don't freak out," he says, and then he reaches behind his neck and unclasps his necklace, dropping it to the bed.

"What," Cale says, because he doesn't get it, and then " _What_ ," because—

"It's not a ghost," Sam says, gesturing to the _ghost_ in the hotel room between them. "It's like… the magic ghost."

"A magic ghost," Cale says faintly. "Of—of _Jean Beliveau._ "

Sam smiles again, but it's brighter this time. "You know who he is," he says, clearly pleased. "Most people just ask who the old man is."

Cale's glad he's already sitting, because he's having a serious case of the _what the fucks_ right about now. "I know who he is," he agrees, because that's the only thing he's sure about right now.

"I bumped into him," Sam says. "And his magic, it jumped out of him and into me."

"It what," Cale says.

Sam shrugs. "There's supposed to be a ceremony," he says. "But if someone with magic never does it, then sometimes the magic finds somewhere else to go."

"So when I feel like there's something else there," Cale says, gesturing at the silent ghostly form that's apparently Jean Beliveau's magic.

"It's not truly him," Sam says. He reaches for his necklace, and as soon as his fingers hit the metal, the ghostly form disappears. "But his magic, it was in him so long that it doesn't know how to be anything else."

"You're twenty-one, almost," Cale says. "You've just been living with Jean Beliveau's ghost for a decade?"

Sam laughs as he fastens the necklace again. "Yes."

"And that's why…" Cale says, but he falters, because he doesn't actually know how this explains anything.

"Yes," Sam says anyway. "I have all the magic, but I don't have the control I need. Sometimes I can do what I want to do, like when you see me heal Barbs' wrist, but sometimes it doesn't work right."

"Like with Willy," Cale says.

"Like with Willy," Sam confirms. His mouth quirks up into a smile. "I think my magic is mad because he didn't ask last time he got hurt."

Cale laughs. "Jean Beliveau's magic got its feelings hurt."

"It did," Sam agrees, smile lighting his face. "So if something happens, Makars, you come right to me, okay? Don't make Jean Beliveau's magic sad."

Cale can feel his eyes go a little wide. "Do you—did you do that on purpose?"

Sam raises his eyebrows. "Do what?"

"When you said his name," Cale says cautiously. "It was—it's not that you weren't saying it, but you weren't the only one. There was… I don't know what his voice sounded like, but…"

"Hm," Sam says. He frowns and looks down at his hand, balling it into a fist and then relaxing it, looking into his palm. "I didn't do it on purpose."

"I think I've heard it before," Cale says, mind racing back to when Sam hadn't been able to heal Willy's shoulder. "Are you sure you didn't mean to?"

This time the look Sam gives him is flat. "I'm sure."

"Okay, sorry, yeah," Cale says, shaking his head. "I'll… keep listening for it, I guess? And I'll let you know if I hear it again."

"Jean Beliveau," Sam tries. "Anything?"

Cale shakes his head. "Not this time."

Sam mutters under his breath, French too fast for Cale to pick anything out, but he's pretty sure he gets what he needs from the tone. "Can you," Sam says, gesturing to the bed Cale's sitting on. "Stay, watch some television with me, see if you hear it again? If something is happening, then I need to fix it."

"Sure," Cale says. He swings his feet up onto the bed and grabs for the clicker. "What are we watching?"

"HGTV," Sam says decisively. "They make bad choices. It's fun to mock them for it."

Cale laughs as he scrolls through the channels until he finds a rerun of _Love It or List It._ "You're not wrong."

"Get used to it," Sam says, and Cale might not know him all that well yet, but he's pretty sure the cheer in his tone is forced.

-0-

Cale isn't sure what wakes him, but—

"Oh," he says softly, because Sam's asleep in the other bed, and there's a bright purple glow radiating out from his entire body.

There's a noise from the corner of the room, and Cale wrenches his eyes away from Sam's sleeping form to look. He bites his cheek hard almost immediately, because the figure that Sam had insisted wasn't actually Jean Beliveau's ghost is watching him, a patient expression on his face as he blinks in Cale's direction.

"Uh," Cale manages, keeping his voice quiet as he pushes himself up.

"Hello," definitely-Jean Beliveau's-ghost says.

"Hi," Cale says weakly, holding his hand up in the world's most awkward wave before dropping it back to the bed. "You're, um. He said you weren't a ghost."

The ghost laughs. "I am," he says, turning to look at Sam. "What he has, my magic, that isn't me. I am myself, and he has my magic."

"Okay," Cale says, nodding jerkily. "That's, um. I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to be doing here."

The ghost laughs again, walking towards Cale. "I am Jean," he says. "And you are?"

"Cale," Cale replies, standing and holding a hand out to shake on autopilot before yanking it back. "Shit. Sorry."

The ghost—Jean—laughs yet again, and Cale would feel like the punchline of some cosmic joke if he wasn't so busy kind of freaking out. "Don't worry," Jean says. "You're polite. That's very refreshing, Cale."

"Uh," Cale says. "Thanks?"

"You're quite welcome," Jean replies. His gaze drifts back to Sam, and the smile drops from his face as he sighs. "I spent the last few years of my life wishing I had never bumped into your Samuel, Cale."

Cale frowns. "He's a good guy," he says. "I know you didn't mean to—"

Jean shakes his head. "I never thought otherwise," he says. "My magic, what he has… I struggled with it all my life, you see. I had hoped that by not gifting it to another, I would take its temperamental nature with me when I left."

"And then Sam happened," Cale says.

"Indeed he did," Jean agrees. "And now he struggles with it."

"I mean," Cale says, looking at Sam. He's still breathing softly, fully asleep, and the only thing that makes him look different from any of their teammates is the fact that he's glowing. Which isn't a small thing, Cale reflects, but Sam hardly seems to be struggling.

Jean hums. "He's waking," he says, and his tone sounds regretful as he turns to Cale. "I cannot be here while he is awake. Keep your eyes on him, Cale."

"I, uh," Cale says, but Jean is gone, and Sam's glow is diminishing as he blinks up at Cale.

"Makars," he says, and his voice is low and sleep-rough, warm in the air of the hotel. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Cale says. He glances at the clock; it's three in the morning, he realises, and he has no idea if he's going to get in trouble for missing curfew, but there's not much he can do about it until the morning. "I just woke up because… I was cold."

Sam huffs out a laugh. "Because I was glowing, and it bothered you."

Cale tilts his head at the clock. "If it was bothering me that much, I would've woken up forever ago."

Sam hums and shuffles back in his bed, then throws the covers back. "In, in," he says. "I'm warm and I'm tired. Get in here so I can go back to sleep."

"Uh," Cale says, but his feet are moving forward without any direction from his brain, and he kneels on the bed beside Sam cautiously. "Are you sure?"

"'M sure," Sam says, eyes already blinking closed, and Cale slips beneath the covers. He opens his mouth to ask Sam _what now_ , but Sam's arm drops around his shoulders, covering him with the covers, and then he lets out a little sigh as his breathing goes even again.

Well, Cale thinks to himself. Apparently now they sleep.

-0-

"So, um," Cale says. They're on the plane, heading back to Colorado for games three and four, and Cale is pretty used to the combination of nervousness and excitement in his stomach now.

Sam looks at him. "What?"

"I, um," Cale says, glancing around and lowering his voice. "I didn't just wake up because I was cold."

Sam's lips quirk. "You slept fine the rest of the night, and you were much closer."

Cale can feel his cheeks heat, but he ignores it. "I met, uh," he says. He's not sure how to say it, so he reaches up and touches his collarbone, fingers touching the chain he wears and hoping Sam gets the point. "I met your friend."

Sam doesn't react for a second, and then his eyes go wide. "You _what_?"

Nietsy turns around in the seat in front of him. "You guys okay? You need an adult?"

"Fuck off into the sun," Sam says, not looking at Nietsy. "We are fine. Go back to your beauty sleep; you need it."

"Ouch," Nietsy says, but Cale catches a fraction of his grin through the crack in the seats as he turns back around.

"You what?" Sam asks again, but quieter. "That is—how did you—"

"He was just, like, standing at the end of your bed," Cale says. "Which is way creepier than it seemed at the time, now that I say it out loud."

"He was just," Sam echoes, then shakes his head. "My magic just looks like him. We went over this."

"He talked to me," Cale says. "Introduced himself. Told me I was very polite."

Sam's laugh is incredulous. "You are," he says, "but you are telling me that you met the ghost of Jean Beliveau in my bedroom, and you talked about you being a nice person?"

Cale shakes his head. "No, he was like," he says, trailing off with a frown. "He sounded… sad? He said he didn't want you to have his magic because it was kind of bitchy."

"He did _not_ ," Sam says, drawing back.

"I'm paraphrasing, but only a little," Cale says, smiling for half a second before shaking his head. "He said that he was hoping it would die with him, because it's… temperamental. That's the word he used."

"Temperamental," Sam mutters. "Stubborn is easier. Just say stubborn."

"I did suggest bitchy," Cale points out.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Did he say anything else?"

"That you were struggling with it," Cale says. "And that I should keep an eye on you."

"Oh, is that why you climbed into bed with me, hm?" Sam asks, and there's finally a hint of his smirk coming back to play around the corners of his mouth.

"You," Cale splutters. "You asked me to! You invited me!"

"I can and will get Dad," Nietsy says, turning around again. "And by Dad, I mean Carl."

"Do not get Carl," Sam stresses. "We are fine, Matt, I promise."

"Yeah, let Carl… do whatever Carl's doing," Cale adds. He likes all of his teammates, but something about Soderberg reminds him of when he'd get in trouble as a kid and his dad would just sigh and look exhausted with the world. "We don't need to drag him into this."

"Fine," Nietsy says. "But I can't get the beauty sleep that Sammy so kindly pointed out I need if you guys don't _shut the fuck up_."

"My magic is not the bitchy one on this plane," Sam mutters, and Cale leans back against his seat and laughs.

-0-

Cale does his best to keep an eye on Sam, but NHL playoff hockey is way more intense than he could ever have imagined, and he can barely do more than follow directions if he's not on the ice. Sam seems fine when he manages to check in; he's up when they win and down when they lose, but everyone's still ragging on JT for wasting that garbage can, so it's not like he's the only one. Cale doesn't think there's anything out of the ordinary going on, and then—

"He's gonna be fine," Josty says, leg jittering on the bench as they all watch Nate walk down the tunnel. "He'll be back in, like, half a second, and he'll be pissed but he'll score a goal about it. Right?"

"I will end him," Sam says quietly from Cale's other side, and that's only halfway his voice.

Cale whips around to see Sam staring out at the ice, eyes flicking back and forth as the play resumes. He's not glowing, not that Cale can see in the bright arena lights, but there's something going on.

"Hey," Cale mutters. "Sam. Chill out, bud."

Sam turns to look at him, face impassive, movements just a hair too smooth. "Nate is injured," he says, and this time it's more obvious. Cale's not sure if it's because he's paying more attention, or if there's more of that other voice beneath Sam's, but he can hear it way more clearly than he's comfortable with.

Cale shakes off his glove and reaches out, shoving his hand between the end of Sam's glove and his jersey. "Sammy," he says, wrapping his fingers around Sam's skin. "Hey. Chill the fuck out, okay? Nate's gonna be fine."

Sam blinks at him, and the otherness vanishes. "I," Sam says, staring at Cale, something like panic in his eyes. "Cale—"

"Girard, Johnson," Bedsy says from behind them, as Sam snaps his attention back to the ice.

Cale pulls his hand back quickly as Sam stands, swinging over the bench so he can join the play.

Cale's sent out to relieve him, and there's not enough time on the bench to talk, not enough time to figure out what's going on, if it was a weird fluke or something Cale needs to be worried about. He just plays as well as he can, and by the time they get back to the locker room, Sam seems fine again.

"Hey," Cale says, knocking their shoulders together as they head for their stalls, ready to listen to whatever mid-game advice Bedsy has for them.

"I am okay," Sam says, shooting him a quick smile. "That was… it was odd, but I'm fine now."

Cale nods and lets it go, mostly because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to do.

-0-

"Um," Josty says, blinking at Cale as he pulls the door open.

"Is Kerfy here?" Cale asks. "Nobody answered at his and JT's room, so—"

Josty steps back and looks over his shoulder. "Uh," he says. "You guys good for company?"

"Yeah," JT says after a moment, and he sounds—gutted, Cale thinks, like they just lost a series that they had every right to win. "C'mon in, Makar."

Cale steps inside. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I know this sucks."

Josty gives him what's maybe half of his normal cheery grin. "We'll live," he says. "What's up?"

"Uh," Cale says. His eyes flick to the bed, where JT's curled around Kerfy, who's laying on his back with a hand in JT's hair as he looks over at Cale. "I have… questions?"

"So I hear," Kerfy says. His grin is tired, but it's there.

"Ask him out," Josty says, and Cale splutters and turns. Josty's smirk is a little more real this time. "What, like you're not here about Sammy?"

"Not like that," Cale says, throwing a hand out. He hasn't been thinking about it for a lot of reasons, but the top three of those are _playoffs_. Now that that's not something he needs to focus on anymore, his main Sam-related thoughts are all about his magic.

Kerfy sighs. "Sit down," he says, gesturing to the empty bed. "Tys, stop stirring up shit."

"But I'm so good at it," Josty says, walking back to the occupied bed and getting in on JT's other side. He slides up behind him and they sort of melt together, and Cale almost feels like he should apologise for intruding on what's clearly a moment and leave, but he takes a deep breath and forces himself to sit.

"So, uh," Cale says. He's not sure how to ask what he wants to know; Sam hadn't said the Beliveau thing was a secret, but he hadn't said it wasn't. He wears a suppression necklace, so chances are good most people don't know. _Most_ doesn't tend to include teammates, though.

"That's not one I can help you with," Kerfy says, clearly amused. "I need a question, man."

Cale shakes his head. "When he's doing his magic stuff," he starts. "Can you see it? The magic?"

"No," Kerfy says. "Can you?"

"Yeah," Cale says, nodding.

"Wait, really?" Josty asks, head popping up over JT's back. "What colour is it? Does it clash with our jerseys?"

"Yeah, _that's_ the important thing to learn here," JT mutters, but Josty glances down at him and smiles, which definitely means the question was to make JT react. It's sweet, Cale thinks, tucking the moment away.

"It's purple," Cale says. "I guess it's kind of like a really bright version of what would happen if you mixed the burgundy and the blue together."

"Nice," Josty says, laying back down.

"Let's go back to the fact that you can see it at all," Kerfy says. "That's… huh. That's interesting."

Cale shrugs. "I mean, sort of," he says. "It's not just him. I've always been kind of sensitive to it."

"Cool," JT says. "My sisters both have a little magic, and I could never tell if they were using it or not. Sometimes I thought they were, sometimes I thought they weren't, and I was almost always wrong."

Josty's hand pats JT's hip. "It's okay. We still love you even if you're the worst at magic."

"I'm gonna roll over and squish him," JT says to Kerfy.

Kerfy laughs. "You'll regret it in the morning."

"Bet I wouldn't," JT mutters.

Cale clears his throat; he doesn't know how he didn't see it before, the way the three of them really are in their own little world when they're together, but it's obvious now that he knows. He still has questions, though, so when Kerfy looks over at him, Cale forges ahead. "So when he had his, uh, moment on the bench," he starts.

Kerfy shakes his head. "I didn't see it."

Josty sits up again, this time with a frown on his face. "I did, a little," he says. "What was going on?"

"I don't know," Cale says slowly. "He's got… something weird. About his magic."

"I tried to tell you that," Kerfy says. "Except I'm starting to think I used the wrong words."

"It doesn't matter," Cale says, shaking his head. "He and I—we talked about it. I know what's going on with him, but I'm kind of worried that it's all…"

"Too much," Josty says. "I've never seen him like that. I don't know what it was, but it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up."

Cale nods. "I don't know what it was, either."

"But it stopped as soon as you touched him," Josty says. "How'd you know to do that?"

"Instinct," Cale says, frowning slightly. "I have no idea, honestly. I just yanked my glove off and did it, and it broke his concentration enough for…"

"Okay," Kerfy says slowly when Cale doesn't complete his thought. "Is there something going on that we should know about? Or, like, that we should tell Coach or the medical staff about?"

"I don't think so?" Cale says, aware that his tone probably isn't selling his case. "Not now, not yet. Just…"

"We'll all keep an eye on him," Josty says firmly. "Hopefully he can sort it out over the summer, but we're all in his corner, okay? He's team. We'll do whatever we can to help him."

"And to help you help him," JT adds. 

It's odd, Cale thinks; everyone thinks of Kerfy as the smart one, but JT and Josty both did the college route, too. They're all nodding at him now, agreement and supportiveness, and Cale smiles at the tangle of them on the bed and exhales.

-0-

"Makars," Cale hears, and he blinks his eyes open groggily. Sam is right there, giving him an exhausted smile beneath hooded eyes. Cale doesn't remember falling asleep in Sam's room, but clearly he had; they hadn't really talked about anything last night after Cale had knocked on his door, just sat and wallowed in the grief of the end of the season.

"Sammy," Cale says, and his voice sounds low and rough with sleep.

Sam blinks at him, and then his smile widens. "We have to go in half an hour," he says. "I think you need to get up and go pack your bags in your own room, yes?"

"Right, shit," Cale mutters, shaking his head and throwing the covers off. "Half an hour?"

"Yes," Sam confirms as Cale gets out of the bed. He reaches out and takes Cale's wrist, and it feels like a reversal of that first night Cale had fallen asleep in Sam's room, with Sam reaching out to keep Cale from moving away. "Thank you."

Cale blinks at him. "For leaving?"

Sam's laugh is quiet. "For yesterday," he clarifies. "During the game. I was…"

"Yeah," Cale says. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Sam says, sounding somewhat troubled. "I plan to find out over the summer. There is someone back home I can talk to, see if I can control it better. That shouldn't happen."

"I didn't think it should," Cale says, smiling weakly. "I'm just glad you snapped out of it."

"Thanks to you," Sam says, tapping his thumb against the knob of Cale's wrist before dropping his hand. "So thank you."

"No problem," Cale says. "I'd say 'anytime,' but please don't do that again."

Sam laughs. "I'll do my best," he promises as Cale walks out of the room.

-0-

A bunch of the guys are heading to Vegas for Sam's birthday; Cale's invited, but he's not 21, and he'd feel weird about it even if the rest of the guys assure him that it wouldn't be a problem at all. He packs up the stuff he has at the Calverts' and heads home instead, with a summer plan that involves a _lot_ of rest before he gets back into the swing of training.

He spends a lot more time than he ever thought he would trying to figure out things about magic; he clears his search history kind of religiously, and he's not sure it's actually helpful, but it makes him feel better to know there's nothing on his phone or computer linking him to things like _ghost magic_ or _speaking with two voices_ or _my friend is haunted how do I help_. He doesn't really learn much, but by the time he gets back to Denver, he feels like he's ready for the season, ready to see what he can do with a year's worth of time. At least he's got a clue about the hockey side of things.

"So," he says, bumping Sam with his elbow at the first captain's practice before training camp actually starts. "How was your summer?"

"Too long," Sam says, flashing him a smile.

Cale laughs. "Tell me about it," he agrees, and then Gabe claps his hands and starts talking, and they all focus on getting in tune with each other, learning and relearning things about themselves and teammates new and old.

He's getting out of the shower after practice when Sam pops up beside him. "So you're getting an apartment this season," he says.

"That's the plan, yeah," Cale confirms. "Calvy spill the beans?"

Sam laughs. "I promise him I'll make a puppet show for the babies next time I visit," he says. "They love when their animals dance and talk."

"I bet," Cale says, smiling at the thought. "The apartment complex said the place'll be ready in a few weeks. I'm crashing in a hotel until then."

Sam rolls his eyes. "You'll stay with me," he says. "Tornade needs more friends."

Cale blinks. "Wait, really? You wouldn't mind?"

"None of us would mind," Sam says, gesturing around the locker room. "I just ask first, that's all."

"Well, that'd be nice," Cale says, smiling. "I kinda think I've got enough hotels in my future, y'know?"

"I do," Sam confirms. "Go get your things from the hotel. I have a spare bedroom, so you don't even have to watch me glow in the dark."

Cale bites his lip so he doesn't tell Sam that he doesn't mind, but he's a little afraid someone will overhear and assume. And sure, Cale spent as much time as he could over the summer thinking about Sam's magic, but that meant that he was thinking about _Sam,_ and, well… 

"Thanks," he says, instead of following that train of thought any further. "I appreciate that."

Sam smiles and promises to text him an address, and Cale doesn't let himself think about what he's doing, what he's getting himself into, as he drives towards the hotel. It's a matter of half an hour to collect his things and check out, and then he's driving from the place he was staying in near the practice facility to the address Sam had sent him.

Sam lives in a quaint-looking house in an area near a lot of parks, which makes sense, Cale thinks as Sam opens the door and his dog pushes out past him to dance around Cale, barking and wagging his tail. 

"Tornade," Sam says, half sigh and half introduction.

Cale laughs and bends over, offering his hand before scratching at Tornade's ears. "Hi, buddy," he says, grinning when Tornade licks his hand and then spins in a circle, a doggy approximation of Sam's on-ice moves. "We're gonna be good friends, huh?"

"He love you already," Sam says, and when Cale glances up, Sam's got a soft smile on his face. Cale looks back down at Tornade, firmly reminding himself that of course Sam likes his own dog, and his expression doesn't mean a thing other than that.

"Well, I'll take him to one of those parks later, and then we'll be friends for life," Cale says, standing up. "I didn't bring much with me. Most of my stuff is scheduled to be shipped down from Calgary after I get into the new place, so I've just got a couple things for now."

Sam nods. "I can help," he offers, coming down from the porch and sidestepping Tornade as he dances around them both. "Even if it isn't much."

"It really isn't," Cale says, shrugging and opening the back door of his rental. He's going to get a truck, but he hasn't gotten around to it yet, so for now he's stuck in a rented Subaru that's a little too small for him. It'll work, though.

Sam whistles when he looks inside. "You weren't kidding."

Cale laughs, reaching in to grab the duffel bag. He passes it back to Sam, then unhooks his garment bag from the other side of the back seat. "I mean, I've got hockey gear in the trunk," he says, standing and shutting the door. "I can live with this stuff for a few weeks. I'll just do a bunch of laundry."

"I promise not to let Josty know you only have four outfits," Sam says, grinning as he turns back towards the house. "He would love to take you shopping."

Cale laughs. "I mean, I probably need another suit or two," he says. "If telling him that will distract him from noticing that I'm wearing stuff more than once, then I'm happy to let it slip."

Sam shakes his head. "He will still notice," he says. "But I think he'll appreciate a distraction, with the suits. The living arrangements this year…"

"Yeah," Cale says, wincing slightly. He hadn't been part of the team last year, not really, not for the length of time it takes to bond with everyone. He'd almost groaned with how predictable it was, then, that one of the two people he'd gotten close to during his few weeks in Denver had been traded over the summer. He can't imagine how Josty and JT are handling it, and hearing that they'd decided to get separate places for the year hadn't sounded great when Cale first heard it. He's not sure it's any better now that he's had time to think it through.

"Anyway," Sam says, climbing the stairs and opening the door, "welcome home. For as long as you need, okay? You can stay."

"Thanks," Cale says, following Sam inside.

-0-

Cale spends three solid, peaceful nights in Sam's guest bedroom before he wakes up for reasons he can't identify.

And then—

"Hello again," Jean says, smiling at Cale from the desk chair.

"Jean," Cale says, blinking as he pushes himself up. "Uh, hi. How…"

Jean laughs, and it could be mocking, but it really isn't. "I am well," he says. "How was your summer? Who won the Cup?"

Cale makes a face. "The Blues."

"A division rival," Jean says gravely, putting a hand over his heart. "Anything but that."

"You said it," Cale agrees. "So, um. What's up?"

Jean's expression turns worried, and he glances away. Down the hallway, Cale notes. Towards Sam's room. "He tried something over the summer," he says slowly. "The magic, it didn't like it, and I worry for him."

"What did he do?" Cale asks.

"He tried to get rid of it," Jean says simply.

Cale blinks. "Wait, you can do that?"

"No," Jean says with a shake of his head. "Not successfully. Not unless you know exactly what you're doing."

"And if he knew what he was doing, he wouldn't need to get rid of it," Cale says. "Shit."

Jean's nod is solemn. "Precisely," he says. "The magic is… it's hard to explain it. Magic doesn't have emotions, but it does have reactions to things."

"Like chemistry," Cale says. It's more a guess than anything else, but Jean nods.

"If you drop one chemical into another, there is a reaction," he says. "That's a good analogy, Cale."

"So Sam tried to get rid of his magic, and now it's pissed at him," Cale says. All he can think of in the moment is the baking soda volcano he'd made in grade school, putting the powder into the hole in the centre and then dumping the vinegar in.

Jean hums. "He only tried to get rid of the magic that was mine," he says. "Not his own, not the magic he's been given."

"And those are different," Cale says, remembering the odd, silent not-ghost that had appeared when Sam had taken his necklace off. "So his magic is still okay?"

"I have no connection to his magic," Jean says. "It would make sense if it was unaffected, but then again, it would also make sense if it was giving him trouble."

Cale sighs. "How do I figure it out?"

Jean raises one pale eyebrow. "You could try asking him. I've had good results with that in the past."

"You," Cale says, blinking. "Wait, are you chirping me? Am I getting chirped by a ghost right now?"

Jean's laugh is hearty. "I was a hockey player," he reminds Cale, as if Cale has somehow _forgotten_ that he's Jean freaking Beliveau instead of just getting used to ignoring the fact that he's in the presence of a living legend.

_Or, well…_ Cale amends mentally.

Jean's face goes serious again, and he glances back towards Sam's room. "I think," he says slowly, lifting a hand. "I think you should check on him, Cale."

"What?" Cale asks.

"Now, please," Jean says. He rises from the chair and disappears in the same movement, there and then gone, and Cale shoves his blankets off and tumbles out of the bed, yanking his door open and jogging down the hall. Sam sleeps with his door cracked open so Tornade can get in and out, and Cale can tell before he pushes it all the way open that the glow is brighter than it had been last year, lighting the room well enough to see clearly.

"What," Cale says, because Jean's standing at the side of the bed, but Jean is also materialising at the foot of the bed, and that's—

"The magic," ghost-Jean says, fingertips reaching out and passing through magic-Jean's arm. "He still wears the blocker. This should not happen. This should _not_ happen."

"Okay, well," Cale says, taking two strides across the room towards the bed. Tornade's tail starts thumping against the bed, but Sam keeps on sleeping, not stirring at all until Cale leans down and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Jean, no offense, but—"

"Wake him," Jean says, voice fading as Cale shakes Sam's shoulder to do just that.

Sam's eyes blink open and he frowns. "Makars?" he asks, accent more pronounced than it is when he's fully awake. "What is it?"

"You," Cale says. The glow hasn't faded, hasn't receded at all, pale purple flooding the room around them, and Cale can still see magic-Jean in his peripheral vision. "I was talking to Jean again, and then…"

Sam blinks again, then glances over. "Hello," he says cautiously.

Magic-Jean looks at him, face impassive.

"That's not him," Cale says. "It's…"

Sam's eyes widen, and his fingers fly up to his necklace as he sits up. "I don't understand."

"Jean says it's pissed," Cale says, waving his hand at the magic. "You tried to get rid of it, so it's, like… I don't know. He just said it wasn't happy, and that it was because you tried to get rid of it."

Sam scowls, first at Cale, and then at the magic. "Well, if it would _behave_ ," he snaps, then switches to French that Cale can't hope to follow.

"Sammy," Cale says, touching Sam's shoulder again. "Your necklace. Jean said this shouldn't happen."

"Jean is right," Sam says. "He put the spellwork onto it himself, and as long as the magic is tied to me, it will draw its power from it."

"Okay," Cale says. "Except…"

"Except," Sam agrees. His hands move to the back of his neck, and a moment later the necklace drops to the bed. The magic doesn't waver at all, and Sam sighs. "It was too much to hope that that would fix it, eh?"

"Yeah," Cale agrees. "So, like. What do we… do?"

Sam stares at magic-Jean for a long moment. "Could you," he says slowly, lifting his arm up. "When you touched my wrist, during that game, it helped."

Cale reaches down and wraps his fingers around Sam's wrist. He's not expecting much, but the form wavers around the edges. "Uh," he says intelligently.

Sam inhales sharply. "Keep holding on," he says, lifting the necklace with his other hand. He holds it in his palm and starts speaking in French, then something that's decidedly _not_ French, and as soon as he clenches his fist around the chain, magic-Jean's form winks out.

"Okay," Cale says, not loosening his fingers around Sam's wrist at all. "Is it…"

Sam's smile is pretty humourless. "It's hidden," he says. "It's still there. Here."

"Creepy," Cale says. "What happened?"

Sam shakes his head. "The spell is still here," he says, looking down at his necklace. "I put on another spell. A different spell, one that works from my magic."

"So it won't stop working because Jean's magic is pissed off," Cale translates. "Good call."

"That is my hope," Sam says, looking up at Cale with a crooked smile. "Can I have my hand back?"

"Oh, right," Cale says, dropping Sam's wrist and taking a step back. "Sorry."

Sam laughs and fastens his necklace back in place, and Cale breathes what he hopes is a quiet sigh of relief when nothing seems to happen. "So," Sam says. "Jean woke you?"

"Sort of," Cale says. "It's like the feeling of someone watching you, I guess. It creeps me out in my sleep, so I wake up."

"Odd," Sam says, wrinkling his nose, and Cale sways forward without meaning to, as if—what? Like he's going to reach over and smooth the wrinkles in Sam's forehead, like him being closer is going to make the weirdness stop?

"It's not so bad once I wake up," Cale says, hoping he didn't pause too long. The situation is already weird enough; there's a _ghost_ involved, for crying out loud. "He's a nice guy."

Sam laughs and shakes his head. "He was," he says, and the crooked smile is back.

Cale blinks. "Right," he says. "I keep forgetting."

"I would love to speak with him again," Sam goes on, smile slipping from his face as he looks down. "He was an excellent mentor, the few times we had the chance to speak."

Cale hesitates, then decides that tonight isn't going to get any weirder before sitting on the bed next to Sam. "I can ask him something for you," he offers. "I know it's not the same."

Sam shakes his head, and there's a bare hint of hesitation before he slumps against Cale's side. "The person I talk to over the summer, the person who help me try to fix everything," he says. "She answer the questions I have just like he would. It's not the answers I miss, it's the person."

Cale shifts, slipping an arm around Sam's back. "I get that," he says quietly.

"I talk to his wife," Sam says quietly. "Elise. She try so hard to help me."

It's surprising and it isn't; if there's anyone on the planet who might have an idea of how Jean's magic worked, it's his wife. "She helped you try to get rid of it?" Cale asks.

"No, no," Sam says, and his laugh is exhausted. It sounds like more than it just being the middle of the night; it sounds like a lot of nights like this, something magical keeping him from a restful night's sleep. "She help me try to control it, to make it look more like me and less like him."

"I don't want to say she's bad at it," Cale says.

Sam's laughter shakes them both. "It's not her," he says. "She tell me, it's all about the mind. I need to know my own magic, and then I can know his magic, and then they will be the same magic."

Cale shakes his head. "It didn't work," he guesses.

"I got impatient," Sam admits. "Jean wanted to take it with him. I was trying to… give it to him, I think."

"I don't think he wants it back," Cale says bluntly, and Sam laughs again, loud and happy, enough for Tornade to leap back into the bed and nuzzle against both of them. Cale falls to the bed first, but Sam follows a second later, and Cale laughs as Tornade follows, licking at Sam's face as Sam rubs at his ears and coos to him in French.

-0-

He hears someone talking, but he's warm and comfortable; he can ignore it for a little while, he figures, and he settles farther into the bed. The voice quiets, and he's just about to tip over the edge back into sleep when something lands on him, and then there's dog breath in his face as Tornade starts enthusiastically licking his forehead.

Cale yanks the covers up, more instinct than intent, but he's laughing as Tornade tries to paw them back. "Hey, hey," he says after a moment, lowering the sheets. "Hi, buddy."

"Good morning," Sam says, clearly amused, and when Cale flips over, Sam lowers his phone. "I promise not to share it with the team."

Cale mock-scowls "Sure, you say that now."

"You're in my bed," Sam says lightly, and—the night before, Jean and the magic and the spell, falling asleep when Sam turned to him and said he should just stay.

"Right," Cale mumbles. "There's… that."

"I made breakfast," Sam says, taking another step into the room. "Come on, eat. The eggs won't be very good once they get cold."

Cale nods and flips onto his back, stretching his arms above his head and laughing when Tornade takes it as an invitation to sprawl across his chest. "No, buddy, we're getting up now," he says. He knows his voice goes helplessly soft when he's talking to an animal, but there's not much he can do about it when Tornade just looks up at him with a big doggy grin. "Let me eat, and then we can go for a stroll before practice, okay?"

"You learn fast," Sam says, and when Cale looks over again, he's grinning. "Everybody else just say the W-word."

"His paws are on me and he's not that small," Cale points out. "I don't want to get trampled to death just because he's a little excited."

Sam laughs. "Fair," he says. He whistles, and Tornade whuffs out a big doggy sigh before rolling over and trotting out of the room. "Eggs, Makars. Come on."

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Cale says, pushing himself up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed as Sam follows Tornade down the hallway.

Breakfast is good and practice is better; a lot of things seem to be clicking right from the start for a lot of guys, and Cale's excited to see what it'll mean once they get into actual game situations. Everyone's in town, people who've already made the team and prospects and even guys who are definitely going to start the season on IR.

"So," Cale says, sitting next to Sam. Their lockers aren't near each other, but most of the guys have left already, so it's not weird for Cale to be sitting in EJ's spot. "You said we're waiting?"

"We are," Sam says, enigmatic smile on his face. "Not long, I don't think. I just want to see—"

"Sammy G!" Colesy shouts, walking into the locker room. "How's it going?"

"Good," Sam says, amused. "Let me see, come on."

Colesy laughs as he walks towards them. "You couldn't fix it before I had the surgery, man. What's so different now?"

Sam shrugs. "Maybe my magic like you better now," he says. "Last time was right after a game. You smelled _bad_."

"You're an asshole," Colesy says, still grinning. "Okay, here I am."

Sam raises both eyebrows. "I need to _see_ , Ian."

Colesy shrugs and glances at Cale. "You okay with me flashing your boyfriend?"

"My—" Cale splutters, feeling his face go full tomato.

"You're very funny, yes," Sam says, and Cale can hear him rolling his eyes. "I can leave you to heal until December if you want."

Colesy sighs. "I was being polite," he says, turning back to Sam. "It's ugly, kid. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Cale has to bite his cheek so he doesn't visibly react when Colesy carefully pushes his pants down; there are angry red scars on both of his hips, and it's not that Cale thought double hip surgery wouldn't leave a mark, but it's still not pleasant to see. 

"Wow," he says softly, when he can manage something that isn't a panicked, horrified sound. "I mean… wow."

"All for the love of the game," Colesy says. There's a tight, tired smile on his face. "Be nice to yourself, that's all I can say. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I can't even wear boxers, because the elastic sucks too much."

"Stay still," Sam murmurs. "And I am sorry if this hurts."

"What," Colesy says, looking back to Sam, but Sam reaches out and puts a hand on each of Colesy's hips, fingers already glowing purple before he makes contact.

Colesy sucks in a sharp breath, but his eyes go wide pretty quickly. "What the fuck," he says, but it sounds wondering, kind of amazed. "You're actually…"

Sam's arm trembles a little; they're close enough that Cale can just barely feel it, more Sam's shirt brushing his arm than anything else. Cale turns; he's surprised to see that Sam's head is bowed as the magic flows from him. He has no idea what makes him do it, but Cale lifts his hand and curls it gently around the back of Sam's neck, and Sam sighs and lifts his head again, tension that Cale hadn't even noticed flowing out of his shoulders.

"Okay," Colesy says when Sam finally drops his hands. The scars look years old now, and like they're from a much less invasive surgery. "Wow. That's…"

"You can wear boxers again," Cale supplies when Sam doesn't say anything. "Congratulations."

Colesy laughs incredulously. "Fuck that, I can walk normally again," he says. He bends over and pulls his pants back up, then takes two steps backwards. "You just pushed my recovery forward about a year and a half."

"I think I take some of it, too," Sam says. "The injury underneath. I didn't just heal the surgery marks."

"Hot damn," Colesy says. "I guess I should've showered months ago, huh?"

"Gross," Cale says as primly as he can manage, and Colesy laughs again.

"Thank you," he says, looking directly at Sam. "I—man, _thank_ you."

Sam waves a hand at him. "Go get medically cleared."

"And you," Colesy says, gaze switching to Cale. "Whatever the fuck you did, thank you, too."

"I didn't," Cale starts.

Sam shifts, and that's when Cale realises that his hand is still on Sam's neck. "You did," he says quietly.

"Right, cool," Colesy says. "You guys have fun figuring that out. I'm gonna go see if I can get some ice time so I can get my skates back under me."

Sam lifts a hand as Colesy walks out the door, then lets it fall to his lap. They're both quiet for a moment before Sam shifts again, and Cale finally lets his hand drop away from Sam's neck.

"What was that?" Cale asks. "I'm not magic, like, at all."

Sam shakes his head. "I think," he says. There's a delicate frown just over his eyebrows, and he shakes his head again. "I need to call Elise. I don't know, Cale."

"She'll know?" Cale asks.

"She might," Sam answers. "Me, I have no idea, so at least I can ask her."

Cale laughs. "Okay, fair."

"And we can go home now," Sam adds, standing slowly and carefully. "But maybe you should drive. I'm tired."

Cale looks at Sam again, really looks. He does look exhausted; the magic must've really taken it out of him, Cale guesses. Magic doesn't work that way, but Sam's magic doesn't work in any way that magic should, so Cale keeps his mouth shut and nods and takes the keys when Sam holds them out.

_Keep your eyes on him,_ Jean had said. Cale's starting to see why.

-0-

"Hey, Cale," Gabe says. They've started the actual preseason, and Cale's been part of good teams before—hell, he only barely lost the Frozen Four last year—but he's never been on a team this good, and he's excited to see what they can make happen.

"Hey," Cale says, slowing down. "How's it going?"

"Good," Gabe says, grinning at him. "Can I grab you for lunch today? I promise I'm trying to meet with everyone and this isn't some sort of weird rookie thing."

"Well, if you promise," Cale says, grinning when Gabe laughs and shakes his head. "Where to?"

Gabe gives him an address, and twenty minutes later, Cale walks into the restaurant. Gabe waves him to a table near the back, and Cale settles across from him.

"So," Gabe says after they order. "How are you? Settling in okay?"

Cale shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, I'm staying with Sam, because my place won't be ready for a few weeks still. It's going well."

"Good," Gabe says. His smile is kind of a lot to handle in close proximity like this, Cale's finding. "I'm glad you and Sammy are getting along."

Cale frowns. "Why wouldn't we?"

Gabe shrugs, and it's not quite as casual as he's probably hoping it is. "Sammy's…"

"He's great," Cale says when Gabe doesn't actually explain himself. "I'm not sure if you think we'd have hockey issues or magic issues, but we don't have either. We're friends, and—"

Cale shuts his mouth so he doesn't blurt out anything about Sam's weird magic situation or the fact that he can apparently help balance things. He wants to have a handle on it himself before he tells anyone else that something is going on there, and even more than that, he wants to consult with Sam about it. It's not really Cale's thing to tell, not when it really comes down to it.

"Sam's great," Gabe says after a moment. "I didn't—I'm just glad you guys are friends. Not everyone likes his magic, that's all, and we worry about all the new guys and how they'll respond to it."

Cale can't help the face he makes; he's sure Connauton is a perfectly nice dude, but Cale's positive that part of the reason Coach sent him to the Eagles and kept Barbs up is because Connauton could barely be in the locker room with Sam, and sure as hell couldn't play with him.

"Yeah," he says after a moment. "I've got his back. We're good, me and Sammy."

"Good," Gabe says, nodding. "And his magic?"

"What about it?" Cale asks. He doesn't like that he's instantly on guard, but here he is.

Gabe sighs. "You know about the, uh," he says. He touches the chain around his neck. "No way you're staying with him and you don't know. Right?"

"I know," Cale says. He's actually a little relieved to find that Gabe knows, if he's being honest with himself. "He showed me during the playoffs last year. It's… yeah."

Gabe blows out a breath and lets his hand drop. "It is," he agrees. "He's got a handle on everything?"

"Uh," Cale says, but he falls silent as the server comes back with the food. He and Gabe both nod at the guy, and Cale looks down at his salad as he contemplates how he's supposed to answer the question.

"He told me he's working on it, and that you were helping," Gabe offers after a moment. "I'm not trying to get you to tattle or whatever, Cale. I just want to make sure things are going well, and that you know you can come to me or Nate or EJ or anybody else if you need help with anything, or if Sammy does."

Cale nods. "Okay," he says. "Thanks. I think we've got a handle on it, and if that changes, we'll let you know."

"Sammy won't," Gabe says, and his voice is deceptively light. "Again, I'm not asking you to tattle, or to tell us every single detail. But you should know that Sammy… he isn't good at sharing that kind of stuff."

Cale has no idea if it's a good idea to tell Gabe that he's got kind of a direct line with Jean Beliveau; he also doesn't know if Sam said anything about the whole "trying to get rid of the magic over the summer" thing. He just nods again and picks up his fork, and thankfully Gabe seems to take the hint, picking up his utensils and starting to cut up his chicken breast as he switches to talking about the season ahead.

-0-

Willy starts the season on IR after Sam spends three frustrating hours trying to heal him; he's a good sport about it, at least, which doesn't do anything for Sam's foul mood on the drive home. He mostly gets over it, which is a good sign, and Cale does his best to lift Sam's spirits when he can. All the winning they're doing sure helps, at least, and then they're in St. Louis, and—

"I can't do anything," Sam says in the locker room. His voice is low, haunted, and Cale's not shocked in the slightest to hear more than one voice coming out of him. "There is nothing I can _do_ for him. I cannot even take his pain."

"Sammy," EJ starts, voice as gentle as Cale's ever heard it.

"Nothing," Sam snarls, picking one of his gloves up and hurling it across the locker room.

It's quiet enough to hear a pin drop, and Cale grabs Sam's wrist and yanks him close. "Hey," he says into Sam's hair, manhandling him into what probably looks to everyone else like a hug. "Sammy, hey, c'mon. You're freaking the guys out."

"What use is all this magic?" Sam asks, but Cale just keeps holding onto him, and Sam relaxes against him, slowly but surely.

Cale doesn't have to look around the room to know that Gabe's watching them, but he doesn't really have any answers for whatever Gabe's trying to ask, so he just keeps his head down until Sam sighs roughly and sits back up.

The plane ride home after that is mostly quiet; nobody's in a joking mood, not after the loss and not after watching how Mikko had to be helped onto the plane. It's a quick flight back to Colorado, at least, and Cale doesn't think he's been this glad to see his own bed in a really long time.

He drifts off to sleep quickly, arms wrapped around his pillow, and then—

"Cale," he hears, and Cale shoots upright in bed. Jean is standing closer than he's ever stood before, half bent over Cale in the bed, and Cale shivers when he goes straight through Jean's spectral form.

"What, what," Cale says, trying to blink away the weird feeling in the back of his throat.

"Come, now," Jean says, and he winks out.

The feeling in the back of Cale's throat only intensifies as he flings the sheets back and bolts out of his room.

Tornade is whining; Cale can hear it before he shoves Sam's door open, and he skids to a stop, staring at the bed in shock. Tornade runs over to Cale, hiding behind his legs, and Cale can't comfort him, can't look away.

"Jean," he says, and his voice cracks. He'd feel a little embarrassed about that normally, but he's giving himself a pass right now, because Sam's not only glowing, he's _floating_ about six inches off the bed.

"Wake him," Jean says, tone sharp. "Cale, wake him now. Something is wrong."

"You don't say," Cale says, shaking himself out of it and crossing the room. "Sam. Hey, Sam, c'mon."

Sam makes a low noise, but he doesn't stir.

"Sam," Cale says more urgently. He reaches out to touch Sam's shoulder; it had worked last time, so he figures it's worth a shot. His skin is cool to the touch; Cale shivers, but he grips more tightly, shaking Sam's shoulder firmly. "Come on, snap out of it," he says. He can hear his voice going high again.

"The necklace," Jean says, and Cale doesn't think, doesn't consider the implications, just reaches up with his free hand and tugs hard at the chain around Sam's neck. It gives shockingly easily, and then the strange magic-Jean is there, floating in the same space Sam's occupying, both of them hovering in and out of each other's forms.

"What the fuck," Cale says, and ghost-Jean says something loud in French and reaches out, and then Sam's falling, the purple is gone, the ghost and the magic are both gone, and Sam yells as he hits the bed.

"What in fuck's sakes," Sam says, reaching up and gripping Cale's arm.

"You," Cale starts, and then one of the Jeans pops back into view. It stands silently beside the bed for a few moments, and Cale closes his eyes and exhales. "Fuck. I thought maybe he got rid of it for you."

"Cale," Sam says. His fingers are digging into Cale's arm now. "What happens?"

"You were," Cale says. He glances up; magic-Jean is still there, impassive like he was the day Sam first took his necklace off in the hotel in Calgary. Cale swallows and looks back down at Sam. "You were glowing. And floating."

"Floating," Sam repeats, dark eyes going wide. "That…"

"Jean woke me up," Cale says. "And I pulled your necklace off, and then he was floating in you, and Jean touched the magic and everything went away, and—"

"Breathe," Sam says firmly. "Cale. Please breathe."

Cale draws in a ragged breath, and then another. His chest hurts like he's been skating full-out for hours on end, like he's winded beyond what his body can handle. "You were floating," he repeats.

"Okay, yes," Sam says, and he's somehow calm about it as he sits up. "And you fixed it, yes? You and Jean?"

Cale looks up at magic-Jean again. "For now."

"For now," Sam agrees, finally letting go of Cale's arm. "I need to call Elise, I think."

Cale sits heavily beside Sam on the bed. "It's the middle of the night."

"In the morning, yes," Sam says, mouth quirking up. "We have a day off. We can sleep in, and then I will call Elise."

"Okay," Cale says. Now that the immediate danger is over, now that Sam's awake and not floating, now that Tornade is creeping back towards the bed, Cale is suddenly _exhausted_. "So… sleep now?"

Sam laughs quietly. "Yes, sleep now," he says, scooting over on the bed. He tugs at the covers that Cale's sitting on, laughing again when Cale makes a protesting noise. When Cale stands, though, Sam lifts the covers and raises his eyebrows, and Cale doesn't hesitate at all to climb in beside him and throw an arm over Sam's chest.

At least this way, he thinks as he closes his eyes, he'll know right away if Sam starts to float again.

-0-

Sam puts his phone on speaker while Cale is making breakfast; Cale's not sure why, because the call starts with Sam saying "Madame Beliveau" and the voice on the other end saying "Samuel," and then they're off in a torrent of French that Cale can't even start to follow. He busies himself with paying attention to the way the eggs are cooking up; he hasn't screwed up scrambled eggs since he was playing for Brooks, and he'd like to keep that streak alive and well.

"Hmm," he hears from the phone, and then suddenly Elise switches to English. "Are you sure, Samuel?"

Sam grimaces. "No."

"Well," Elise says briskly. "Are you there, Mr. Makar?"

Cale almost drops his spatula as he clears his throat. "Uh," he says. "Just Cale, please. I'm here, uh…"

"Just call me Elise," she says, and Cale can hear the amusement in her voice. "Samuel says that you've been able to draw him out of it when the magic goes haywire."

_Samuel,_ Cale mouths at Sam as he turns the eggs off. Sam rolls his eyes and shrugs, and Cale glances at the phone. "I did a few times, yeah," he says. "Last night was different, though. Last night…"

"You've spoken to my husband," Elise says matter-of-factly. "I'm aware. Go ahead."

"He woke me up," Cale says, shaking his head slightly. "He can tell when something's going wrong, too. He had me try to wake Sam, but I couldn't, so he told me to break the necklace. The, uh…"

"Concealment charm," Sam supplies, standing and walking to a cabinet to get down plates for the eggs. "For the magic form."

"Right, yes," Elise says. "So you broke the necklace?"

"I did," Cale confirms, taking Sam's seat as Sam starts serving the eggs. "The magic form was floating… with Sam, I guess, in him and around him? And Jean said something in French, and then he touched it, and the whole thing broke."

Elise hums again. "Do you know what he said?"

Cale frowns, thinking about it. "No," he says. "My money's on a swear word, but I can't promise it was."

Elise laughs. "You could very well be right," she says.

"Do you, uh," Cale starts, glancing up at Sam. "Do you know what's going on? Or how we can fix it?"

Elise sighs again. "Not really," she says bluntly. "If I could speak with Jean, we might be able to figure it out, but he hasn't seen fit to visit me."

"I don't know if he can," Cale says, frowning. "He only appears when Sammy's asleep, and I've never seen him more than a coupe of rooms away."

"Well, I'm not flying to Denver," Elise says, amused. "And I'm sure if Jean had any ideas, he would have already asked you to speak with me. He's probably just as stumped as the rest of us."

Cale sighs as Sam sets a plate down in front of him. "So we don't have anything to go on."

"I'd advise the two of you to stay close together," Elise says. "Cale, you're the only one who has any effect on that stubborn magic of Jean's. I'll see if I can ask around, figure anything else out. Until then, you boys just stick close."

"We will," Sam says. "Thank you, Elise."

"Stay safe," Elise says, more a command than a well-wish, and then she hangs up.

Cale blinks at the phone, then at Sam. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."

Sam laughs as he cuts into his eggs. "She only looks small," he says. "Elise is a force of nature."

"Yeah," Cale says. "I figured that out."

They eat in companionable silence for a while, and then Sam sighs. "I was hoping she'd have ideas."

"Well, it won't be hard for me to stick close," Cale says. "We live together and we work together. It would be harder for me to go away unless I moved back in with Calvy or whatever."

"Well, you don't have to do that," Sam says. "Tornade would miss you."

Cale thought Tornade was asleep in his bed, but he whuffs softly at his name and wags his tail a few times, even though he doesn't move otherwise.

"Well, we can't have that," he says, smiling. "I'll stick around, I guess. For Tornade."

"For Tornade," Same says, grinning at him.

"So, um," Cale says as he clears his plate. "Not to bring up the elephant in the room, but…"

Sam glances over his shoulder and scowls. Neither one of them has really acknowledged the fact that Cale breaking Sam's necklace means that magic-Jean is visible now, but they have practice tomorrow, and they fly to Vegas not long after that. "I will have to do something," he says. "I don't know what, though."

Cale hums. "We could get the necklace fixed."

Sam shakes his head. "We don't have time," he says. "That will take days, a week. We need something faster."

"Something you can wear during games," Cale says, thinking. "And something that won't fuck with your game, or be likely to break if someone checks you."

"A necklace," Sam says, grinning at him. "I guess we go shopping? Or you go shopping. I don't think I should go out before this is fixed."

"Wait, what if," Cale says. He reaches up and unclasps his own necklace, holding it out for Sam. "Just use this one."

Sam's eyes widen. "Are you sure? It won't… I probably can't take the spell off all the way when mine is fixed."

Cale laughs. "So magic-Jean can't haunt me? Damn."

Sam laughs, too. "Fair," he acknowledges, and he reaches out and plucks the necklace from Cale's hand, and—

"Uh," Cale says, blinking. "Sammy?"

"Hm?" Sam asks.

Cale points over Sam's shoulder, where magic-Jean had winked out as soon as Sam touched Cale's necklace. "I'm guessing you didn't cast the spell really, really fast?"

"No," Sam says slowly. "So why…"

"Put the necklace down," Cale suggests. It clinks against the table a second later, and magic-Jean reappears, silent and still as ever. Sam stares at it for a moment, then picks the necklace back up, and magic-Jean disappears again.

"Okay," Sam says, quickly clasping the necklace around his neck. "I think we should call Elise back.

"Yeah," Cale says, pushing Sam's phone back across the table. "That sounds like a good idea."

-0-

Colin goes back on IR after the Vegas game, and then Gabe breaks his foot, and Cale gets his stall switched so he never has to be more than a few feet from Sam's side when they're not on the ice.

Sam closes his eyes and leans his head against Cale's shoulder on the flight back from Arizona. "I can feel it," he says quietly. "The magic is so angry, Makars."

Cale puts an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulls him closer. "We can call Elise again tomorrow," he says. "Or tell someone on the team. Nate, or maybe EJ—"

"They cannot help," Sam says, and he sounds so, so tired. "I don't want to bother Elise. Every time we tell her something different, she knows less and less. She already is doing what she can, and she will feel bad that it isn't more."

"Okay," Cale says quietly. "What else can I do, Sammy? Should we, like… there are magic doctors, right? Maybe we see if we can get you in to see one of them."

"I have one, in Montreal," Sam says. "Maybe I call her tomorrow, get an appointment for when we're there next month. I can wait that long."

Cale bites his tongue so he doesn't ask _can you?_ Instead he nods and shifts, settling against the window and pulling Sam along with him. "So now we sleep," he says. "And then we go home and let Tornade out, and then we go to bed, and tomorrow you call your doctor."

"It's a plan," Sam agrees. "Makars?"

"Yeah?" Cale asks.

"We should," Sam starts. He shifts against Cale, and Cale waits him out, lets him settle more comfortably. "You should sleep with me tonight. I think it's better when you're closer."

Cale blinks. "Sure, yeah," he says. "Stay close, right? I can do that, Sammy."

"Thank you," Sam says. He sounds relieved, like he wasn't sure that Cale would agree for some reason. Cale's spent a handful of nights in the same bed as Sam at this point, and he's honestly kind of surprised neither of them had thought to suggest this before.

"Of course," Cale says, ducking his face to rest in Sam's hair. "It's not a problem, Sammy. Not at all."

Sam hums, turning his face into Cale's neck. "Thank you anyway."

"Well, then, you're welcome," Cale says. "Sleep, okay? We'll be home soon."

"You sleep, too," Sam says, words slurring around the edges as Cale feels his eyelashes brush against his neck.

"I will," Cale whispers, closing his eyes.

-0-

Tornade is happy to see them when they stumble in the door; Cale walks him to the porch and steps out to supervise as he runs around and eventually does his business, and when he gets back inside, Sam has a treat ready and new water in Tornade's bowl.

"Go get ready for bed," Sam says, waving down the hallway. He's out of his suit and into his sleep clothes, and Cale doesn't let himself think anything at all about how domestic it feels as he heads down the hallway to change and brush his teeth.

He heads back to the kitchen when he's done, and Sam grins tiredly at him from where he's leaning against the counter. "I think he's done," he says, nodding at Tornade. "Which means we can sleep."

"Yay," Cale says, waving a hand in the air. It's the closest he can come to cheering about anything right now, between being tired and being stressed about everything.

Sam laughs and takes a few steps towards him, and Cale doesn't know what's happening until Sam slides his arms around his waist, sighing as he tucks his face into Cale's neck like he had on the plane. 

"Thank you," Sam says. "I know you say it's no big deal, but it still means a lot, yeah? That you help. You don't have to, but you help."

"I'll always help you," Cale says, words happening before he can think about them. "Always, Sammy."

Sam hums. "We are in the same place?"

Cale blinks and tries his best, but shrugs after a moment. "Sorry, my brain's tired. Can you rephrase?"

Sam pulls back and frowns up at him. "In the same book?" he tries.

"On the same page," Cale says, grinning as it clicks. "Yeah, I think we are. Just not on that particular turn of phrase."

Sam laughs and steps back, all the way out of Cale's arms, and Cale firmly tells himself not to reach out. 

"We should talk," Sam says. "Later."

"After we sleep," Cale agrees.

"After I see the doctor," Sam says, smiling fading. "I don't… it's so much already. I want to be okay before…"

To hell with not reaching out, Cale thinks as he grabs Sam's hand and squeezes it lightly. "If that's what you want," he says. "I like you even with all of this, but we can wait. I can wait."

"Thank you," Sam says, squeezing back. "But we should sleep, yes? I'm so tired."

"Yeah," Cale agrees. He smiles as Sam takes a few steps back, pulling on their joined hands until Cale follows him down the hallway.

Tornade trots after them, nosing his way past Sam into the bedroom and jumping up into the bed as they walk in. Sam laughs. "Tornade, down," he says, pointing at the floor.

Tornade whines and tilts his head, and Cale grins. "It's fine," he says, pushing Sam gently towards the bed. "We'll all fit."

"He's spoiled," Sam says, but he walks towards the bed and scratches Tornade's head before dropping Cale's hand. He quickly pulls the covers down and clambers across the bed, turning to face Cale with a smile. "Sorry it's not warm for you."

Cale laughs and gets in, pulling the covers up around himself. "I think it'll warm up soon enough."

"We will warm it," Sam agrees. "You're hot."

Cale chokes on air. "Uh—"

Sam starts laughing. "I mean, like," he says, scooting closer. "You're very warm. Like a heater."

"Oh," Cale says as Sam keeps laughing. He's glad they hadn't turned any lights on; he's sure he's bright red, and Sam doesn't start glowing until he falls asleep. "I… yeah."

"You're also hot," Sam says, patting Cale's hip beneath the blankets. "But we just say we're going to wait, so _that's_ not going to warm the sheets up."

"Oh my god," Cale says, and Sam starts laughing again. "Let's just sleep, okay? I'll be more with it in the morning, I promise."

Sam scoots even closer. "We can sleep," he says. "We already cuddle, so maybe we don't have to wait for that?"

"Yeah, c'mere," Cale says, stretching his arm out and waiting for Sam to curl into his side. He puts his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulls him closer, and Sam sighs as he settles against Cale's chest.

"Sleep well, mon chum," Sam says.

"You too," Cale says. He hesitates, but only for a moment, and then he tilts his head down and brushes his lips against Sam's hair.

He can feel Sam smiling against his chest as he drifts off to sleep.

-0-

Sam's doctor schedules him for their off day between playing Montreal and playing Boston, and Cale breathes a sigh of relief at the thought of someone actually being able to help. Jean hadn't woken Cale up last night, and Sam hadn't started floating, but Cale doesn't want to think that his magicless necklace is going to be a solution forever, especially not when Sam had described the magic as "angry."

It's almost refreshingly normal after that; they have a nice day off, then a practice day, and then a flight and a game. It's going well, Cale thinks, and then they get the news after the game that Grubi's hurt, and Sam reaches over and takes Cale's hand, holding it in a death grip.

"Where is he?" Sam asks as Bedsy stops speaking. "Grubi, where is he?"

"Come on, Sam, this way," Bedsy says, heading for the door.

Sam stands, and Cale doesn't think anything of standing with him. He starts walking with Sam towards the door, but he stops when someone coughs loudly in the locker room.

"Nah, let him go," Colesy says before Cale can even turn around, which is good, because he doesn't have the first clue as to how he'd explain the situation. "They work well as a pair."

"I didn't think Cale had magic," Val says as Cale starts walking again.

"Sometimes it's about more than magic," Colesy says, and that's the last thing Cale hears before the door closes behind him.

"What did Colesy mean?" he asks Sam, voice low as they walk through the AAC.

"We should ask him," Sam says just as quietly. "If he know something, then it's more than we know."

"You're not kidding," Cale mutters as Bedsy opens a door and gestures them in.

"Let me know if you boys need anything," Bedsy says, and then he shuts the door.

Grubi's sitting on the edge of an exam table in most of his suit, and he smiles at them. "Hello," he says, waving. "Don't worry about it, Sam. Don't be stressed."

"You are too late for 'don't be stressed,'" Sam says, giving Grubi the ghost of a smile as he drops Cale's hand. "Where is it? Can I see?"

Grubi laughs. "I stretched something in my groin," he says, shrugging slightly.

Cale grimances. "Ouch."

"I've had worse," Grubi says. "Sam, if you want to look at it, you can. But it will heal, maybe a month, and Frankie is ready."

Sam nods and steps forward. "Let me look," he says. "It can't hurt."

Grubi's gaze quickly shifts to Cale, but then he looks back to Sam. "Okay," he agrees.

He stands gingerly and undoes his belt and pants, and Sam crouches in front of him, putting a hand on Grubi's thigh. His brow creases, and after a moment, he turns to look at Cale. "Can you," he says, and Cale steps forward and puts his hand on the back of Sam's neck like he had with Colesy, and Sam takes a deep breath and lets it out as his hands start to glow purple.

"There you go," Cale murmurs encouragingly, and Grubi's eyebrows shoot up as the purple light spreads, going up beneath his boxers.

It's over fairly quickly; Sam lets his hand drop as the purple light fades, and Grubi hums. "It's better."

"I don't think it's all the way fixed," Sam says, frowning up at Grubi. "I think it's just a little fixed."

Grubi smiles at him. "I think you're right," he says. "But better is better. It's sooner I'm back. Thank you, Sam."

"You're welcome," Sam says, and Cale drops his hand from Sam's neck and offers it to help him stand. Sam takes it and pulls himself up, and Cale smiles at him.

"You work well together," Grubi says, and Cale glances over to find him smiling at them. "On the ice and off, eh?"

Cale laughs. "I mean, sure."

Grubi finishes buckling his belt and reaches out to clap Cale on the shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short," he says, and then he walks past them and out into the hallway, presumably off to find a trainer to tell them about his half-recovery.

"What was that about?" Cale asks as the door shuts behind Grubi.

Sam shrugs. "Hell if I know," he says, grinning when Cale laughs. "Goalies are weird, yes?"

"Yeah," Cale agrees. "But maybe we should ask him if he knows anything, too, if we're already asking Colesy."

"Good point," Sam says. He makes a face. "There's not a good time, though. Our schedule sucks."

"Not as much as it's gonna suck in, like, January," Cale mutters, and this time Sam's the one who laughs. "Come on. Let's get out of here so we can go home. I miss Tornade."

"I'm sure he misses you, too," Sam says, not dropping Cale's hand as he turns and heads for the door.

-0-

The Nashville game is electric, insane; the whole Duchene thing happened before Cale's time, but he can feel the crowd's energy, the way the team ripples around him when Duchene scores and mocks the rest of them as he celebrates.

"Hey," Bedsy says, calm as ever behind them. "You're pissed? Be pissed. Go out there and score a goal about it."

They _do_ , again and again, and it's ridiculous, the way the goals keep going in and in and in. Everyone's giddy on the bench, and Cale smiles even wider when JT reports that Duchene looks like he's sulking on the Preds' bench. "Like a baby who had his toys taken away," he says, and the bench erupts into laughter.

It's all going great, which is, of course, when Cale sees Z drop to the ice with blood pouring from his mouth. Socks jumps over the boards immediately, but for some fucking reason, play continues. Cale grips his stick hard as Z climbs back to his feet and clears the puck down the ice, then goes straight down the tunnel once he's finally off the ice.

"What the fuck," EJ mutters. "What the actual deliberate fuck was that?"

"Refs are incompetent," Donny says from EJ's other side. "Water's wet, ice is cold."

"Let it go," Bedsy says, and there's an undercurrent of steel there. "Whatever you're all thinking right now, let it fucking go. Got it?"

"But," EJ starts. 

"I will staple you to this bench, don't even," Bedsy says evenly. 

EJ huffs, but he doesn't retaliate and neither do the rest of them, and they win 9-4.

Sam is already taking his helmet off as he walks down the hallway. "Where is he?" he asks frantically, fingers already glowing purple. "I can—the magic wants to help him. Where is he?"

"Here," Socks calls, and Sam turns and jogs down the hallway, his skates making an awful sound against the concrete.

Cale follows him, because of course he does, and neither Socks nor Z look particularly surprised when he squeezes into the trainers' room behind Sam.

Z doesn't look like he's capable of facial expressions at the moment, upon closer inspection, and Cale has to bite his cheek to keep from making a face. "Hey," he says. "We won for you."

Z snorts and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't try to talk.

"Stay still," Sam says, dropping his glove to the ground and reaching out.

"Sam," Socks interjects. "Wash your hands."

Sam glances at him, but Socks just points at the sink. Sam scowls, but he walks over and turns the taps on, shoving his hands beneath the stream of water and rinsing them off.

"Soap," Socks says, like he's talking to a kindergartener, and Sam scowls harder as he pumps soap into his hand.

"Good enough?" Sam asks when he rinses the soap off. The magic is dimmer, Cale notes, and his stomach flips even as Socks nods.

Cale turns to Z. "Like he said, hold still," he says, and he reaches for Sam's neck as Sam reaches to gently put his fingers against Z's jaw.

Sam inhales sharply. "It's broken," he murmurs. "I cannot—I will not be able to fix all of it."

"Do what you can," Cale says, rubbing his thumb gently against Sam's neck. "Every little bit helps, Sammy."

Sam nods and focuses, and Z doesn't move, doesn't make a sound at all as the purple light swirls around his face. When Sam pulls his fingers away, the swelling has gone down, and some of the bruising is gone, too.

"Thank you," Socks says. "Do you know exactly what you did?"

"Do I ever?" Sam asks, and Cale might be the only one who hears the bitterness he doesn't quite hide. "All I know is it's a little better now."

"Well, like Cale said, every little bit helps," Socks says. "Thanks, Sam. We'll make sure you get an update when we know something."

"Thank you," Sam says, turning to Cale. "We should change and go home. It's… I'm tired."

Cale nods and lets his fingers trail down Sam's arm as he reaches for his hand. "Come on," he says. "Let's shower. I'll drive, okay?"

Sam nods and sways into Cale, pressing his face into Cale's neck for a moment. Cale's free hand comes up to rest in the small of Sam's back, and he doesn't miss the worried way Socks is looking at them, like he wants to ask what Sam means by _tired_ but isn't quite sure how. Cale shrugs minutely, and Socks nods a little before turning back to Z.

Cale ends up having to hold Sam up in the shower; he's so tired that he's falling asleep on his feet, and Cale keeps his voice steady and his movement sure even as he tries not to panic. It hadn't been like this with Colesy, or with Willy, or even with Grubi just a few days ago.

"Okay, Sammy," he says, tucking Sam carefully into his stall, towel wrapped around his waist. He looks around at who's still left and isn't surprised to find Nate watching them carefully. 

Nate nods at him. "Need a hand?"

Cale nods quickly back. "Let me just get dressed," he says, grabbing his clothing and pulling it on haphazardly. He glances at Sam when he's done. "I just, like. He's asleep, Nate, and he needs to be wearing something for the drive home."

"I've got sweats and stuff," Nate says, opening his bag and pulling out some clothing. It'll be hilariously big on Sam, but it'll also be easy to get on him.

"Thanks," Cale says as Nate approaches.

"Let's do this," Nate says, smiling at Cale as he drops to the floor in front of Sam. "Hey, Sammy, can you hear me? Can you help at all?"

Sam doesn't move, and Cale jumps and whirls when someone coughs politely behind them.

"He won't wake," Jean says.

"Oh my _fucking_ god, what the fuck," Nate says, falling to his ass as he stares at Jean.

Jean smiles at Nate. "Oh, I remember you," he says. "Hello, MacKinnon."

"Hi," Nate says faintly. "Are you, uh."

"Nate, meet Jean," Cale says. "Jean, what the hell is going on with him?"

"He's just asleep, nothing more," Jean says, holding his hands out. "The magic is…"

"I thought you couldn't talk," Nate says, glancing at Cale. "Since when can he talk?"

"Long story short, there are two of them, and only this one can talk," Cale says. "Jean, what do we _do_?"

"Tale him home," Jean says. "Let him sleep. Every time he uses the magic, it will do this to him. He can access it, but it isn't pleased about it."

"So he needs to stop using it," Cale says.

Jean laughs, and Cale doesn't know how a ghost can manage to sound tired, but Jean does. "He won't."

"Damn it," Nate mutters. "Of course he won't, not if there's something he can do to help."

Jean spreads his hands. "Everything for the team, no?"

"Not if it's _hurting him,_ " Cale snaps.

"It's not," Jean says. "I swear to you, Cale. He sleeps now, and when he wakes, he'll be fine."

Cale blows out a frustrated breath. "This isn't sustainable, Jean. We can't keep doing this."

"You need to find a way to take the magic from him," Jean says. "I don't know how, Cale. As I've said, the magic is stubborn."

Nate snorts. "No offense, sir, but it's hockey magic. Of course it's stubborn."

Jean smiles at Nate. "It can be done, though," he says, looking back at Cale. "Elise may know."

Cale swallows. "She, uh," he says. "She says she's not flying all the way out here to talk to you while Sam's asleep."

Jean laughs. "Nor should she," he says, clearly amused. "We've said our goodbyes, Cale. I'll see her again someday, but it doesn't have to be now."

Cale nods. "We'll ask her," he promises. "Tomorrow. I'll call her in the morning."

Jean nods. "Stay with him," he says. "I know you will, but it bears repeating."

"He won't be out of my sight until he wakes up in the morning," Cale promises. "And if he needs something overnight…"

"I'll wake you up," Jean says, nodding to Cale before turning to Nate. "You're doing great things with this team, MacKinnon. Keep up the good work."

He winks out before Nate can reply.

"Uh," Nate says faintly. "Okay, not to, like, freak out, but Jean Beliveau just told me I'm doing well."

Cale grins and turns back to Sam, who's still slumped mostly upright in his stall, breathing deep and even. "He's pretty friendly," he says, grabbing the shirt Nate had handed him and kneeling on the bench beside Sam. "Help me out, Nate, c'mon."

"Right, yeah," Nate says, shaking his head and grabbing for his pants. "Shit, there's no way you can get him home by yourself, is there?"

Cale had just been contemplating the same thing. "Probably not," he says. "I know it's not on your way—"

"I walk here and I walk home," Nate says. "It's fine. Drop me at my place and I'll get my car and follow you over to yours."

Cale shrugs. "You can take the spare bed at our place if you want," he offers.

Nate squints up at him. "There are only two bedrooms at Sam's place."

"Yeah," Cale says, wondering if he can get away with not putting Sam's shoes on him. It's chilly out, but it's probably not cold enough to need to really worry, he decides. It's not like Sam's walking.

"Okay, cool," Nate says after a moment. "You know what? I'll take the spare bed as long as you can promise me clean sheets."

"We'll have to change them," Cale says, shrugging. "I slept on the ones in there now."

Nate makes a face. "Just slept?"

Cale's blush heats his face. "Oh my god, Nate."

"I dpn't want to sleep in a dried-up wet spot," Nate says, grin creasing his face. "Can you blame me?"

"All the sleeping together we've done has been actual sleeping," Cale says. "And all in his bed. You can have the sofa if you don't believe me."

Nate laughs and stands. "I believe you," he says, reaching out to clap Cale on the shoulder. 'Come on. Let's get him home."

-0-

Just as Jean had said, Sam wakes up back to normal the next morning; he's a little confused when Nate appears from the spare bedroom, but he shrugs it off pretty quickly. They call Elise when Nate catches an Uber back to his place, and she sighs and tells them that she'll ask around again.

They're left alone in the kitchen, facing down practice later in the day and a magical mystery that neither of them knows how to solve.

"You could just… not use the magic," Cale suggests, already knowing what Sam's answer is going to be.

Sure enough, Sam rolls his eyes. "If someone gets hurt, I will just sleep it off."

"It could get worse," Cale argues. "What if it's something bad? Worse than Z?"

Sam sets his jaw firmly. "Then I try to help, Cale. And I sleep it off if I need to sleep it off."

Cale sighs; he knew it was a fight he was going to lose, but he had to try. "Sammy," he says quietly.

Sam's face softens, and he reaches out to brush his fingertips across the back of Cale's hand. "It's not hurting me, cher," he says. "I'm just tired after. I'm not sick."

"Your magic is," Cale says. "And we need to figure out how to get it out of you before it _does_ make you sick."

"So we'll figure it out," Sam says simply. 

"We will," Cale agrees, because his other option is incredulous laughter, and that's not going to help anything right now.

They go to practice and learn that Z had surgery on what turned out to be a clean, minor break, and Sam's shoulders lose some of their tension as Socks quietly thanks him again for helping. The day is uneventful other than that, playing with Tornade and arguing over supper before heading to another blessedly solid night's sleep.

They head to the rink in good spirits; they start the game that way, too, which of course means they both suck in a sharp breath when Pebbles catches an elbow to the face.

"Merde," Sam breathes out. "It's his head."

"Sammy," Cale says quietly.

Sam looks down, shaking a glove off and looking at his hand. "There's nothing I can do," he says, flexing his purple-free fingers. "I don't—I cannot force it. I will visit him, but when it was Z, the magic just filled me."

Cale nods and watches as Pebbles makes his way slowly off the bench. "Maybe it's overused," he suggests. "You used a bunch with Z. Maybe it needs to recharge."

"It's his head," Sam says again, watching the ice as play resumes. "I have to try."

"I know," Cale says, and then Coach is tapping him on the shoulder, and he has a hockey game to finish.

Sam's right; his magic doesn't come to him when he gently touches the side of Pebbles' head, and it doesn't again when Frankie gets knocked out cold the next game against the Jets, or when Josty tweaks something in his shoulder against the Oilers. He's trembling by the time they get to the hotel in Vancouver, and the only thing Cale can do is climb into bed and hold him.

"Why can't I do anything?" Sam whispers.

"You're doing what you can," Cale says. Sam's back is pressed against Cale's chest, and Cale is holding him as closely as he can.

"It's not enough," Sam says into the darkness around them.

"It's enough," Cale says firmly, trying to hold Sam even tighter. "You're _enough,_ Sammy."

Sam sighs, but he doesn't argue further, and they drift off to sleep like that.

The Vancouver game is weird; it goes decently, Cale thinks, but there's a really bizarre energy in the building. He feels like he plays the whole game holding his breath, waiting for something to happen, and then the Canucks pull their goalie and he watches as Calvy drops a little too low, catches the shot in the side of his head, and crumples, blood leaking out onto the ice as play goes on around him.

"Stop the play," Bedsy is yelling, more animated than Cale's maybe ever seen him, win against Calgary included. "Stop the fucking play, what the fuck!"

The Canucks score, and all Cale wants to do is find Sam and tug him down the tunnel, wait for them to get Calvy up and off the ice, but there's still time left on the clock.

Calvy disappears down the tunnel. Cale stays in the game. The Canucks score again.

"Fuck this," Nate growls as they come out to dry scrape the ice for overtime. He looks at Cale. "No, _fuck_ this. Get me the puck. I'll put it in."

Cale nods and swings over the boards; they win the faceoff, the puck ends up on his stick, and he barely has to look to find Nate streaking his way up the ice. The pass feels easy, like there's no way it won't connect, and Nate skates up to the net and puts it in.

"I fucking told you so," he roars as Cale crashes into him. "Cale, go, go, okay—"

Cale nods and dashes for the bench, just as fast on his skates now as he ever is racing up the ice. Sam's already down the tunnel, his gloves and stick abandoned on the floor, and Cale takes a left and a right into the dimly lit trainer's room.

"Cale," Sam says, voice desperate. He's cradling Calvy's head in his hands, and it looks—bad, Cale thinks, wrenching his eyes away from the bloody mess of Calvy's hair and letting his gloves fall to the floor as he reaches for Sam. He rests his hand on Sam's neck, trying to—he doesn't even know. He has no idea what his role here is, how he affects the magic, what the fuck he can do to make it start flowing from Sam's hands.

"Sammy," he says after a moment. "Hey, Sammy, I don't think—"

"No," Sam says. His hands haven't moved from Calvy's head, and Calvy hasn't moved, either. "No, it has to work, Cale. I won't let it not work."

"Sammy," Cale says again, as gently as he can. "Hey. It's okay, right? Let them take Calvy to the hospital. He's gonna need a head scan."

"No," Sam says again, but this time he sounds smaller, less angry, more defeated. Cale can see him bite his lip, and then he takes a deep breath and pulls one hand away from Calvy's head, stroking through his hair softly with the other.

"Hey, kid," Calvy mumbles. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'll be fine. I'm tough."

"I'm sorry," Sam says, letting his hand fall to his lap. "I'm so sorry."

Calvy opens his eyes a crack, and Cale can see the pain in them, but he smiles crookedly at Sam. "Score one for me," he says. "Maybe hit a ref really hard in the shin with the puck. That'll make me feel better."

Sam's laugh is watery, and Cale lets go of Sam's neck so he can offer a hand to help him up. Sam takes it, and he doesn't let go as Cale leads him out of the trainer's room.

"I'll text Courtney," he says before they're all the way out. "Tell her I talked to you."

"Thanks," Calvy says as his eyes slip shut again.

Sam is trembling as they walk into the locker room; Cale doesn't really want to let go of him, but they both have to get out of their gear, get in the shower, get on the bus and then the plane. "Hey," he says quietly. "You did what you could. You tried."

Sam nods mutely as they reach their stalls, and he drops Cale's hand and yanks his jersey off, turning to toss it into the bin.

Cale does his best to undress as quickly as he can; he doesn't want to let Sam out of his sight, even if he can't quite pinpoint why. Of course, today's the day when his skate laces are too knotted to get out of easily, so he makes eye contact across the room with EJ, who nods at him and starts walking over as Cale sits to pick at his laces.

"Hey, mon chum," EJ says. "Lay it on me, buddy."

"I can't do anything," Sam says, voice shaking. "Erik, I can't _do anything_."

"That's bullshit," EJ says calmly. "You helped Grubi, remember? And Z, his jaw's doing a lot better already. That was you."

"What good is this magic," Sam says, and Cale glances up to see Sam thrust his hands out. "What _good_ is it if it won't do what I ask of it?"

"Sammy," EJ says. His voice is still so, so calm as Cale finally frees his left foot and starts on his right.

"I fix Colesy ages ago," Sam says. "That's it. I can't help Willy, I can't help Mikko, I can't help Gabe or Josty or Frankie or now Calvy, EJ, what _use is it?_ "

"Sammy," EJ says again, and now there's a note of alarm in his voice. Cale's skate is only half unlaced, and he's probably going to regret not dealing with the whole knot later, but for now he yanks his foot and and looks up. _Of course,_ he thinks wryly. Now Sam's magic comes to him, swirling around him in the midst of the locker room.

"Uh," Nate says from across the room. "Hey, Sammy, buddy? Deep breath, man, c'mon. You're all.... purple."

"You can see that?" Cale asks sharply, standing up and glancing around the room. A quick scan tells him that yeah, for once he's not the only one who can see the magic surrounding Sam; the guys all have a mixture of awe and fear on their faces, but everyone's looking right at him.

"Is this what you see all the time?" Josty asks. "That's, uh..."

"Hey, Sammy," Cale says, turning to face him. "Hey, c'mon—"

"I cannot do _anything,_ " Sam says, turning to face him, and that's not his voice, not at all. The magic is swirling faster now, and his eyes are glowing faintly purple.

"What the fuck," someone says, clearly alarmed.

Cale reaches out, getting both of his hands on Sam's face; he's only been able to pull Sam out of it when he's touched skin, and Sam's still in his Under Armour. It's the only place Cale can touch him right now, but Sam just looks at him with empty purple eyes.

"Makars," he chokes out, a thin thread of his voice beneath the rumble of whatever the hell that other voice is, and Cale—

Cale kisses him.

The first thing that he notices is that Sam's lips are chapped beneath his, but he barely has time to think it before the purple swirling around Sam floods towards him. He doesn't move, doesn't pull back at all, and the purple starts moving around them both. It gets thicker, Cale thinks, blocking out the view of the locker room around them, the faces of the rest of the guys fading out until Sam's the only one he can see. Their mouths are still pressed together, and Sam's kissing him back, and bit by bit, the purple slows until it's drained completely away from Sam.

Cale pulls back but doesn't take his hands from Sam's face. "You with me?"

Sam nods, looking up at him with wide eyes. "You," he whispers, reaching up to trace his fingers down Cale's jaw. "Cale, you—"

"Great, now Cale's the big purple monster person, how is this better?" Burky asks, voice a little too high to be normal.

Cale blinks and finally steps back, dropping his hands to his sides. "I'm what?"

Burky jerks back in his stall. "Wait, you don't have the creepy voice!"

"Your, uh," Kammy pipes up from the other side of the locker room. "Look down. You're purple."

Cale looks down for the first time, and...

There's soft laughter from his left, and Cale knows before he looks who's standing beside him.

"Creative," Jean says, tone approving. "Well done."

"Oh my god," JT says faintly.

Cale turns and shrugs at Jean. "I mean, this isn't what I was going for, but…"

Jean laughs. "Magic rarely is," he says. He's fainter around the edges than Cale remembers; he's also here while Sam's awake, although now that Cale apparently _has his magic_ , maybe he shouldn't be here while Cale's awake. "Good luck with it, Cale. Be smarter than I was."

"I'll try," Cale says.

Jean nods, then looks past him, his smile going kind. "Ah, Samuel," he says. "I'm so sorry that I burdened you in this way."

"No, I," Sam says, reaching out. It's not Cale's imagination; Jean is definitely fading out, even as Sam steps closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't good at it."

Jean chuckles. "You did so well," he says. "For so long. You used it to help, Samuel."

Sam says something in French, his voice choked, and Cale puts an arm over his shoulders, drawing him close as Jean fades more and more. He's barely there now, a wisp in the locker room as he says something soft back to Sam.

Sam nods, and then Jean's gone, really and fully gone.

"Uh," Donny says. "Was that…"

"Jean Beliveau," Cale says, still staring at the spot where Jean had been. "His ghost, actually."

"Okay," Donny says faintly. "I was just checking."

Sam shifts beneath Cale's arm, and Cale looks down at him. "The magic one," he murmurs. "He's not… he's not here."

"And the magic doesn't feel bitchy," Cale says. "Not that I know what bitchy magic feels like."

Sam laughs, and Cale pulls him closer to his side. "Well," he says. "I think that means it's a good start."

-0-

The first thing that Cale learns about magic is that it's _weird._

"Uh," he says, staying as still as he can and trying not to raise his voice too loudly, just in case. "Sammy?"

"Just tell it to stop," Sam's voice comes from their bedroom. "I'm still getting dressed. Give me a minute."

"Okay," Cale calls back, eyes still focused on the purple tendrils arcing from his hands to the stove. It's like he's using the utensils from two meters away, which would be kind of cool, if he'd meant to do it. Instead, he'd thought about getting breakfast started, and the magic had leapt from him and started doing it for him. He concentrates, trying to pull the magic in, to cut it off and tell it firmly to chill out.

"Sammy," he calls again. "It's, uh."

"Tell it to stop," Sam's voice comes again, more amused this time. "Like you tell Tornade when he gets too close to the squirrels."

Cale frowns, but he doesn't have anything to lose, not really. "Stop," he says, giving the purple light currently holding a spatula a firm look.

The spatula clatters to the floor as the magic dissipates. So, unfortunately, do the frying pan, the pepper shaker, and three eggs.

Sam walks in just as they all hit the floor, and he throws his head back. laughing. "Makars," he chides. "What have you done?"

"Made a mess," Cale grumbles, but he can't help but smile as Sam continues laughing. "Wait, let me try…"

He holds his hands out and thinks about cleaning everything up, wiping up the eggs and putting the spatula in the sink and the towel in the wash. Just as he's about to tell the magic to go, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Cale's wrist.

"Maybe let me," he says, smiling at Cale, amusement still clear on his face. "You keep practicing on things that aren't such a mess, hm?"

Cale smiles and drops his hands. "Like throwing the b-a-l-l for Tornade?"

"Like that, yes," Sam says, flicking his hand at the mess on the floor. It tidies itself quickly, the eggs going to the sink and the frying pan lifting itself back up onto the stove. "We will still have to clean the floor. Magic isn't a good disinfectant, and Tornade will keep licking it if we don't."

Cale laughs. "I hear it's good for his coat," he says.

Sam rolls his eyes. "Then you will pick up after him for a week," he threatens. "Good for his coat, not good for taking him outside."

"Gross,' Cale says, laughing again. "Man, I really get why you do magic the way you do, though. I have no idea how to use all of this, but if I just had a little, I wouldn't be able to make such a big mess with a little mistake."

"It works this way for a reason," Sam says, nodding as he steps away from Cale and opens the cabinet beneath the sink to get the Clorox wipes out. He tosses them to Cale, who catches them and pops the container open. "But you're learning. And I'll keep helping you, cher."

Cale smiles as he walks towards Sam, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. He's got a Clorox wipe in his hand and a floor to disinfect, but some things take precedence.

Sam hums, and Cale can feel him smiling. "The floor," he says.

"But you're right here, and the floor is all the way down there," Cale says, stealing another kiss.

Sam laughs and backs away, and the sun glints off Cale's necklace, still securely fastened around Sam's neck. It looks good there, even if it's not serving a purpose anymore; Sam had taken it off as soon as they'd arrived in Calgary after the Vancouver game, just to make sure that magic-Jean wasn't still hiding in it, but nothing had happened. He'd handed it back to Cale, but Cale had just smiled and fastened it around Sam's neck again, and he's pretty sure they both like him wearing it.

"Clean the floor," Sam says. "We have practice."

Cale grins as he crouches, wiping at whatever's left of the egg. "Okay, okay."

Sam's still smiling at him when Cale gets up, and he thinks, _this is so much more than just okay._

**Author's Note:**

> -cale very much just cancels that whole "moving out" plan and stays. he can't leave tornade. obviously.
> 
> -neither one of them has the power to heal anyone anymore, no more than any person with base level magic does. they're both kind of annoyed about it, but it's not like cale's giving it _back_.
> 
> -mme. elise beliveau could kick my ass. she could kick your ass. she could kick anyone's ass. i have never seen another five foot nothing octogenarian and been more certain that they could kick the ass of everyone in the world, but are simply too nice to do it most of the time.
> 
> -follow me on twitter! introduce yourself there or here; my dms and comments are open, and i don't acept random follower requests :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * A [Restricted Work] by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods) Log in to view. 




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